The Adolescence of Shinji
by dudewhatwalks
Summary: At an elite institution, children battle for the chance to bring about a great change in their world. Shinji Ikari, a mere fool, is the wrench in all their plans.
1. réaliser

The man said, "In the beginning there was darkness. And the Lord said, Let there be light!" He had dark hair and dull skin—a common appearance for an uncommon man. Only his eyes marked him as one of the chosen. They burned with the intensity of a furious demagogue, or a man possessed. In the dark bedchamber, they glowed with an unearthly light.

The smell of sex, several hours old, hung stale in the air.

"The Lord made all the birds and beasts that crawl about on this world. Then, he created Men. Male and female, he created them."

His bedmate stirred. She was pale and blonde-haired, his opposite, and her eyes—while possessing a certain shrewdness—lacked focus. They were no more than spheres of photosensitive cells, not windows to the soul. She regarded the man and his words with mild curiosity, tempered by weariness—or perhaps it was the natural grogginess of one recently aroused from slumber.

"What on Earth are you talking about?" she asked, her voice hoarse. The man paid her no mind.

"God gave to Man the Garden, a paradise on Earth. It was full of fruits, and meat, and all good things. But there was a contract between God and Man, one which was never to be violated."

"What was it?" The woman had laid her head on the pillow and closed her eyes.

"The Lord said that Man could feast on all the fruits of the Garden…all except those that grew on a certain tree. This was the Tree of Knowledge. For a while, Man obeyed…

"But Man grew curious. He began to wonder why the fruit was forbidden, and soon he grew tired of wondering. On one night, when he thought he would not be seen, he stole an apple from the Tree and ate it. He shared it with his wife, and she ate of it as well.

"The Lord knew in an instant what Man had done, and chased him and his wife from the Garden. They were forbidden ever to enter again; an angel with a sword of fire was sent to guard its gate. So it remains, to this very day…"

"And how did the Fruit of Knowledge taste?"

The man's voice hardened. "Bitter."

* * *

The building was burning. Its walls and marble pillars dell, one after another, as the screams of the doomed echoed out into the icy night. Whether misfortune or human plot had brought them to their end, there was no hope for salvation—not now.

Standing not ten meters from the inferno, watching it, were a young man and woman. Their faces betrayed no expression, no reaction to what they were witnessing. Their hands were clasped together tightly, despite the oil that greased their palms.

On that night, a covenant was formed.

* * *

It was a midsummer day, and the sky was blue.

Not merely an ordinary blue, the common, neutral blue, but an impeccable blue was the sky. Not only did the refracting summer sunlight emblazon the sky a true, deep azure, but not a single cloud was there to mar its color. Below, the waters of the lake mirrored it almost exactly—perhaps a shade darker.

Despite the beauty of the day, not one gull could be heard crying. There was only the gentle, rhythmic crash of waves.

At the shore of the lake stood a woman, water lapping at her bare ankles. She wore a white dress. Her brown hair, raggedly cut, was blown by the wind, but she did not care. Her face was slack, her mind removed by space and time.

"Mother!"

From behind her, a small boy had appeared. He resembled her closely; only his hair and eyes were different. He was out of breath, panting, where he stood.

"Mother," he said, "why did you go?"

When she did not answer, the boy continued, his voice growing more and more desperate. "Father says he's going to send me away…mother, I don't know what I'll do!"

"Shinji," the woman said, not turning to face him, "I am only doing what I must." The words were difficult for her to say, but she believed them, honestly believed them, down to the core of her soul. "Even if it doesn't make sense now, someday—"

"But it's not 'someday'!" the boy said. He was beginning to cry. "It's now, and I need you, mother…"

At the sound of his sobbing, the woman turned. She walked to Shinji and bent down to see him eye-to-eye. Gently, she caressed his face and smiled at him—kindly, wearily. She drew him close and pressed her lips to his eyes, kissing the tears away.

"Shinji," she said, "do you still have the ring I gave you?"

Shinji nodded, and held up his hand to show the item. It was a ring of alabaster, set with a stone the color of blood. Engraved on the stone was a five-petalled rose.

Upon seeing it, the woman smiled, and took his hand in hers.

"Let this be a covenant," she said. "Every time you look at this ring, you will remember me. Every time you feel it weigh heavily on you, it will be because I am there, watching over you. And one day, that ring will lead you back to me.

"But until then…"

She released his hand, and stood again. She returned to the waterfront, and when she reached it she did not stop walking. She walked deeper into the water, up to her knees, her neck, her head. The boy ran after her, but was halted at the water's edge.

"Mother!" he cried out, but his voice was unheard.

* * *

Two boys stood at the foci of an ellipse in the center of a vast arena. One, white-haired and pale, wore a black suit; the other, dark-haired, wore a gray boy's _gakuran_. The white-haired boy was smiling. The other had tears in his eyes.

"You've done it," said the pale, beautiful boy, sounding triumphant. "If not for you, I might have won this duel, and gained the power for myself. That would have been the end of it."

A girl stood to the side. So wan she was almost an albino, she observed in silence, pitiless. She took no part, and she held no judgment.

"Kaworu," the other boy said, his voice shaking, "I don't understand…"

"Man always seeks to reshape the world in his own image," said Kaworu, for that was the boy's name. "Stagnation will lead only to death. For mankind to survive, the Revolution must take place.

"I want you to do it. Only one person can be the one to revolutionize the world, and I…I cannot. My soul is not as strong as yours, and my dreams are impure. Please, grant me my wish, and destroy me.

"I thank you," he finished. The last lines of the sermon were finished. "My life was meaningful…because of you."

As his grip on his blade tightened, Shinji's found his mind turning back—as though remembering some long-forgotten phantasm—to those parting words with his mother, so long ago. Once again, he had to make a choice.


	2. rendezvous

Within a vast and empty classroom, the girl sat alone. Red-eyed, blue-haired, she seemed an aberration in a world of beige desks, grey floors, and drop ceilings. But far from a vibrant maestro of sensation and passion, the girl was oddly sterile. She simply stared out the window, disengaged, chin cupped in her hand. She did not make a sound, and there was no one to make a sound for her. The silence in the room was overpowering.

Then, the stillness was broken. Suddenly and violently, the girl clutched her chest. Underneath the fabric of her regulation blouse and overalls, she could feel a great heat welling up from her sternum. The bone that protected her lungs and heart from injury felt as though it were about to burst open, as if it were about to shatter to make way for something else forcing its way into the air.

Wincing in pain, the girl struggled to her feet. The pain was a sign; the time had come. She walked out of the classroom, feet dragging at she fought to remain upright.

* * *

Shinji held the photo up to his eye. Examining it in the early evening light, its subject was unmistakable. The photo showed a large pair of bronze gates set in a chalk white wall. Whatever the wall enclosed was hidden from sight by the gates.

He put the photo down. There was no mistaking it: this was the place. For whatever reason, his father had alined him to come here after 10 years of silence. Shinji had not wanted to come at first. He had seen enough of the man, he thought, for one lifetime. But the choice had been made for him. His teacher had cast him out, a boy of 14, and commanded him to go. Only the note—delivered surreptitiously, while Shinji was away—gave him any clue or direction.

Now here he was, the object of his quest right before him, and he had no idea what to do. He hesitated to proceed; the gate seemed forbidding, or perhaps just foreign. He had no idea what he might encounter on the other side. Perhaps, he thought, he'd better just find a hotel for the night. But, curiosity overcoming caution, he took a step forward into unfamiliar space.

When his foot touched the ground, there was a sound like thunder. The faintest sliver of sky appeared between the two gates. Shinji watched it as it widened, revealing clouds, the setting sun…and buildings.

Many buildings, each of the same brick of the wall, stood within its confines. They were arranged like a miniature city, with avenues, crossings, and even roundabouts helping to complete the illusion. The complex sprawled on like a labyrinth, somehow much larger than the space that the walls outside should have been able to surround. Bemused but intrigued, Shinji allowed his legs to carry him onward, deeper into the maze. He only hoped he would not meet the end of Fortunato.

After wandering about for several minutes, he did find a place where he had a mind to find direction. It was a large white building, built like most of the others in a fabulous Greco-Roman style that put Shinji in mind of American politicians. Colossal pillars, six in total, rose from the top of a short flight of stairs to a massive domed roof. In front of the steps, there was a sign written in English. It read:

MAIN OFFICES

Below that, in a scratchy hand:

NEW ARRIVALS COME HERE.

The addition was written in katakana, and Shinji recognized the hand immediately. It was the same one used in his father's letter.

He glared up at the building. His father was most likely inside, waiting for him. Whatever his intentions were, they were apt to be revealed soon enough. Summoning up what little resolve he had, he took the first step—then the second, and on until he reached the top, standing in front of the entrance. A chill wind ran up his back. Night was coming.

With a sigh, he stepped through.

He arrived in a waiting area lit by fluorescent light. Chairs lined the walls; a plastic plant stood in a corner. The floor displayed tiles in a morning star pattern. On either side of the far end, corridors led off to other rooms. All in all, Shinji had expecting something more dramatic. He had been expecting—silly as the idea was in retrospect—for his father to be there, face-to-face, confronting him.

He cleared his throat and called, "Hello?"

There was a sound from another room, and a woman's head peered around the corner. She was dark-haired. On seeing him, she smiled with a childlike affectation.

"The new arrival, right?" she said chipperly.

Shinji nodded. "I'm Shinji Ikari." Remembering his manners, he bowed. The woman only laughed.

"Come right along," she said. "We've been waiting for you."

Motioning for him to follow, she vanished back around the corner. Shinji after her, turning to find another corridor much like the first one, and quickly caught up to her. He was now able to see her form in full, and—in his adolescent state of mind—he was stunned. She had a tall, shapely body, accentuated by the tight blouse and shirt she wore. She had a pearl necklace around her neck; Shinji wondered if the innuendo were accidental.

She was leafing through a beige folder as she walked. When she saw he was next to her, she smiled and handed it to him.

"Take a look."

Shinji accepted it with a "Thank you" and opened it up. The first document in the pile caught his eye immediately. It was a glossy-covered brochure with an image of the facility seen from above on the front. Above the image was a supertitle: "Welcome to Rosenkreuz Academy!"

"Academy?" Shinji asked, looking at her. He was more than a little bemused at this point. "Am I going to school here?"

"Yup," the woman said. "It was a surprise to us, too, you coming so late in the year and all. Still, I'm sure you'll fit right in!"

If he had ventured to speak, Shinji would have told her she was being overoptimistic, but he kept his dark musing to himself. Out loud, he asked, "If I may ask—what's your position, then?"

"I'm the school psychologist," she replied. "Misato Katsuragi. If you ever have a problem, Shin—can I call you Shin?—you should come straight to me." She giggled. Shinji finding nothing funny, just nodded. The situation was just becoming more confusing to him. His father had summoned him…why? For his education? It that was the case, there was no need to be so enigmatic. It wasn't Gendo's style. Shinji began to wonder what his father's agenda was, and doing so made him angrier at the man than he already was.

When the two of them rounded a corner, they encountered a third person. It was another woman, she was about as tall as Misato, and probably the same age—though this woman looked older, or perhaps just more mature. She had dyed her hair a bright blonde. A mole sat on her cheek. When she spoke, the smell of cigarettes accompanied her words.

"Misato, you're late," she said. "The headmaster is growing impatient."

Misato laughed nervously. "Sorry," she said. "But hey, at least I got him!" She pointed to Shinji, who looked away out of habit. The blonde woman's gaze, though, was irresistible. When they made eye contact, she smiled.

"Mr. Ikari," she said pleasantly. "My name is Ritsuko Akagi—I'm the school nurse. Pleased to meet you."

Shinji started to bow, but Ritsuko shook her head. Instead, she extended a hand to the boy. Hesistantly, Shinji took it.

"Pleased to meet you, Miss Akagi," he said. "Now, I don't mean to be rude, but I was wondering if I could see my—"

Ritsuko hushed him. He smile remained as it was, but there was some change in her eyes. It seemed indescribably cold.

"Your father's just behind that door," she said.

"Which door?" Shinji asked. Looking behind her, he saw only a wall, and there were no other corridors.

"That one."

Ritsuko took his shoulder and turned him 360 degrees. When he returned to his original position, he could indeed see a door. It awaited him at the end of a long hallway. Each wall was lined with chairs; each chair bore a placard with a hand pointing down the hall. On the door itself was a metal plate. It bore the name _Ikari Gendo _in English, kana, and kanji. There was no window in the door, no way to see what lay beyond it.

Without thinking, Shinji began to sprint towards the door. Neither Ritsuko nor Misato made any effort to keep up with him, but whenever he looked to his sides they were there, as if they had never moved. If Shinji had dwelled on it, it would have confounded him to the exclusion of all else, but he was focused on the door. When his hand finally touched the cool metal of the doorknob, halting him, time seemed to stand still. He turned the knob, and the door opened with a creak.

Shinji stood frozen outside the threshold. His jaw was slack, his hand still stuck to the doorknob. Misato and Ritsuko were still at his sides, but he could not feel their gazes. He was transfixed by the sight before him, as though he stood on a cliff overlooking some cyclopean city—but all he was looking at was a small, tidy office. Sitting behind a redwood desk was his father. He was smiling.

"Shinji," he said. "I can't tell you how good it is to see you again. Please—" he gestured towards a folding chair in front of the desk—"have a seat."

* * *

It was perhaps the most surreal and awkward conversation in Shinji's entire life. For one thing, the office seemed completely anathema to his father's character. It was too cozy, too lived-in. There was a paisley rug on the floor, for Pete's sake, and shelves containing books with cheerful names on every wall. His eyes glazed over as he examined every item in the room a hundred times, just to check if it were real. And all the while, his father was chattering away happily.

"Miss Akagi will be your homeroom teacher," he said, handing him yet another helpful sheet—this one was his daily schedule. "You'll be in classroom 2-A in the middle school."

"Father," Shinji interjected woodenly.

"Now, as for rooming," Gendo said, blazing on heedless. "You'll sleep in the northern dorm, third floor, room seven, with Kensuke Aida."

"Father."

"I've already selected a meal plan for you. Now, I know it might seem—is something wrong?"

Shinji had clenched his hands into fists and was staring at the floor. "You think it's funny?" he asked, shaking. "You abandon me…for ten years…then you call me back and act as though everything's fine and dandy?"

"I don't—"

"Shut up!" Shinji stood up abruptly, knocking over the folding chair. "I was a TODDLER back then, and you left me crying at the train station! You didn't give a damn then—why now? Just answer me!"

Gendo seemed to be at a loss for words. He sat back in his chair, inhaling deeply as he did so. He closed his eyes.

"Miss Katsuragi?" he called.

"Yes?" answered Misato, her voice muffled by the door.

"Please escort my son to his room. Our reunion is over." Shinji could almost laugh. This seemed more like the father he had come to know. He didn't even bow as he walked out, and slammed the door—not quite accidentally.

Back in the sterile hallway, he found Misato waiting for him alone. Her smile seemed nervous, but she showed no signs of dropping it. Taking his hand gently, she led him out the way they had come, through the same endless series of hallways. Their footsteps echoed like drums—the only sound in the whole building.

When they got out, the sun had finally set and the stars were risen. There were lampposts scattered around the campus, and they were lit, but the journey to the dormitory would still be mostly in the dark.

"Where's Ritsuko gone?" Shinji asked as they walked down the front steps.

"Probably to bed," Misato replied. "The faculty residences are on-site too, you know…it's weird; you could could enter this school at five years old and never have to leave till you graduate high school. Then you get a teaching degree, and you're right back here until you die." She laughed, but Shinji found the idea more disturbing than funny. Would this be his fate? To be cloistered in with his father for the next four years, maybe for the rest of his life? How delightful.

As if reading his thoughts, Misato said, "You really should give your dad a second chance. He's not that bad a guy."

"Oh?" Shinji said. "How would you know?"

"Believe me," Misato said with a wink. "When I came here I was an angsty kid just like you. But thanks to him—his leadership—I grew up. I became a better person." Her expression was softer than it had been all afternoon; a sad, wistful smile. "See, Shinji, part of growing up is learning to get close to other people without hurting them."

"Whatever." It was a weak response, but Shinji was too tired to think of something better. He was relieved when, at last, they arrived at the dormitory. It was designed unlike the other buildings on campus: more Georgian than Roman.

"Your stuff should have arrived already," Misato said. She handed him a plastic card with his photograph on it. "It's a keycard. It'll unlock the door for you, and get you into all school events. That's all! Now," she said, stretching comedically, "I think we'd both like to go to bed, eh? Then I suppose I'll bid you adieu."

"Thank you," Shinji called to her as she walked off. Misato waved a hand at him. When she vanished from sight, he walked inside.

The dormitory was utterly silent when he entered. Everyone was probably asleep. The hall lights were still on, probably for security purposes. Too weary to think of anything but sleep, Shinji quickly located the stairs. Up three flights, room seven—check, check. He pressed his keycard into the appropriate slot, and the door clicked open after a slight delay. Shinji went in.

His roommate was asleep, a fact for which Shinji was grateful. He couldn't take another lengthy introduction. A quick check in the room closet confirmed that his personal items had been delivered, so his imminent arrival was unlikely to be a surprise to the young Aida. That was enough for Shinji. He walked to his own mattress—it was a bunk bed, Kensuke occupying the upper level—and collapsed onto it, still fully dressed. Within minutes, he was asleep.

* * *

Two blades clashed. Sparks flew. In the vastness of the underground chamber, two bodies were locked in a fierce duel on of a white stone stage. Each combatant bore a rose on their breast and a ring on their hand.

One—a tall, tan boy—was fighting with a European saber. Although he was the larger and stronger of the two, he used the blade inexpertly, not seeing the advantages of a slim, quick weapon and preferring violent, sudden strikes. He might have been better served by an arming sword—such was the weapon used by his opponent.

She was a short girl with hair the color of autumn leaves. Her features were European, and her eyes were bright blue. Despite her lesser size, she was more than able to hold her own; she could easily maneuver around every attack the boy made, and then launch back with a counterattack of her own that, if it did not hit the boy, at least unnerved him.

His slashes became larger, wilder, as he fought to gain ground. His vision became clouded by sweat and the feverish excitement of battle. The girl could see it in his eyes, and knew that she had to end the fight now. She had grown tired of the game anyway.

She moved in close—too close for him to attack her—and cut the rose from his chest with an audible swipe. The boy stood dumbstruck as the girl pushed him down. He hit the ground wordlessly.

From the shadows, a quiet, girlish voice spoke. "Victory: Asuka Langley Soryu."

The girl with blue hair stepped out of the darkness, into the space between the two fighters. She did not wear her uniform; she had on a red dress that wrapped around her bosom tightly but blossomed like a flower at her waist. Asuka, triumphant, pulled the girl to her side—and laughed.


	3. résister

"What," the woman asked, "is the most grievous of all sins?"

The man's lip curled. His hand was pressed against his face, his index and middle finger stroking his cheek while his ring finger traced the line of his mouth. As he spoke, it moved up and down with the motion of his lips.

"A question with a simple answer. Wrath."

"Wrath?" the woman repeated. She had been lying on her side facing away from her partner, but at his unexpected response she inclined her head towards him. "Why not, say, pride?"

"Pride is the Original Sin," he admitted, scratching his beard, "but—like Envy, Greed, Gluttony, and Lust—it can be seen, essentially, as an attempt to celebrate the beauty of Creation—although a failed one, and one that draws the sinner away from God."

"And wrath?" she asked.

"To be wrathful is to abandon love, to deny the wonder and glory of God's work. It is to turn against God himself, making it in essence as evil as idolatry."

"I see," the woman said. "So to love too much and to harm one's soul and another's is not so bad as to hurt oneself or another because of hatred?"

"Correct."

She rolled onto her back, seemingly satisfied. She closed her eyes, her mind traveling to vistas beyond this one. "I have a patient," she said, picturing the face of a girl, "whom I often treat for cuts and bruises…"

The man gritted his teeth, as though to hear of another's suffering were to experience it himself.

"Do you suppose," she continued, "that she might be suffering from the effects of wrath?"

"I know not," the man said. "But I might say that, in truth, she suffers for love."

The woman opened her eyes. Although she could barely see him in the still darkness, she glared at the man with frightening intensity.

* * *

The sight of the rose garden was not unwelcome to Shinji's eyes. He did not know how he had stumbled across it, or for how long he had stared; all that concerned him was the garden itself. There were flowers of many colors: red, white, yellow, orange, blue, violet. They were arrayed like a mandala, and wrapped around the trellis that supported them like the grasping arms of maenads. Shinji was tempted to draw close, to touch them.

"Please," came a voice from behind before he could do so. "Please, be gentle."

Shinji's head turned, and his gaze came upon a girl who now stood behind him. At first, he did not make a connection between this girl and the voice he had heard; she seemed too immobile, more like a statue than a living human. Her skin was pale as marble, and her red eyes looked like drops of blood equidistant from a delicately shaped nose. Only when she blinked did the illusion vanish. Shinji immediately felt his cheeks grow hot.

"S-sorry," he stuttered, taking a step back from the roses. "I was only admiring them…."

The girl nodded. "Many people find the garden pleasing, But if it were neglected, it would surely wither and die." She looked past him, towards the rose bushes, with concern in her eyes. "I am the only one who will bear the burden of their keeping…."

Shinji stared at her. He felt overwhelmed, though by what he could not say. It was not disgust, or fear, but neither was it empathy or solidarity. It was longing, quite simply.

Shinji drew in a deep breath. He would not break down here, in front of this girl. He forced himself to smile.

"I'm Shinji Ikari," he said. "Pleasure to meet you, Miss…?"

"My name is Rei Ayanami," she said, bowing. "It also pleases me to meet you, Shinji."

She walked over to one of the bushes. There was one flower in particular on that bush, one with brilliant blue petals, that had grown to a great size. It looked as though it were about to bloom, but if it were to do so it would lose its beauty, and so anyone would have longed for it to remain as it was, immature yet beautiful. Rei, her small hands wrapping gentle around the base of the flower stem, twisted. There was a snap as it broke free. Rei turned back, and offered it to him. For a moment, Shinji wanted to accept.

"What are you doing?"

Both Shinji and Rei were forced to turn to look at the interloper. To his surprise, Shinji recognized her: Asuka Langley Soryu, the student council member whose control of the high school overruled even the teachers. Tall, red-haired, and possessed of an uncomfortable melange of American and German sensibilities, Asuka was feared by students and staff alike. Shinji, being a latecomer to the school, had not yet developed this instinctive fear—but when she was glaring daggers at him like that, looking as though she might run over and try to kill him at any moment, he could understand why some were afraid. He was transfixed, unable to flee, as she approached him.

"What are you doing with the Scarlet Woman?" she demanded. She forced her way between Shinji and Rei.

'Scarlet Woman'? The phrase meant nothing to Shinji, but Asuka seemed to assume he knew what she was talking about, as she immediately turned on Rei, practically spitting at her.

"And why are you talking to him? Did I tell you that you could do as you please?" Rei bowed apologetically.

"No, master," she said. "However, as you did not command me _not _to do so…"

Asuka drew her hand back and slapped Rei across the face.

* * *

"What is the purpose of the duels at this academy?"

The woman now held a burning cigarette in one hand. She twirled it about with her fingers as she spoke, watching the smoke rise to the roof of the chamber. It was almost invisible, black on black; only the burning stub created a point of light that was reflected in her eyes, making her look double-pupilled. Her bedmate had his eyes shut, as though he were sleeping. But he still responded when she spoke, intoning an answer in a deep, rough voice.

"You know the answer as well as I do," he said. "In order to break the seals that separate us from our goal, the soul of our chosen champion must be purified…and what better way than by showing his soul, his dreams, to be stronger than those of his challengers?"

It was a conversation they'd had many times before, and always it was the same. The answer never changed, no matter how many times she asked the question. And despite that, they continued to walk the same path, perpetrating the charade—and why?

In search of the truth, they were willing to spiral as far down into the abyss as was necessary.

* * *

"Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy name…"

A sphere of light had grown out of Rei's chest. At first small, it swiftly blossomed, illuminating the whole of the underground arena. Shinji stepped away from it, shielding his face with his arm, but he kept his eyes open. Squinting, he was able to make out the hilt of a sword emerging form Rei's bosom.

Asuka reached for the sword, the light reflecting off her ring like a star. She grasped the hilt firmly and pulled it forth. In that moment, Rei's head fell back rapturously, and the light that flooded the arena was more brilliant than before—but then it died, and the vastness was dark once again. Asuka pointed the sword at him.

"You must know this sword," she said. "It is with this that Eden's gates are guarded, you know."

_What the hell is she talking about? _Shinji gripped his shinai tightly, forcing his hand to remain still. He raised his arm to mirror Asuka's.

"You may begin," said Rei, stepping aside. Shinji brought his shinai down in a defensive stance. The rules, as he understood them, were simple: each combatant wore a rose, and the first to lose it lost the duel. There were no mortal consequences for fighting.

A pity that Asuka didn't agree. She came on the offensive immediately, blade at arm's length as though she meant to skewer him. Well, Shinji thought, he could play that game as well. When they were two blade's lengths apart, he jumped aside, dragging the shinai along the hook of her arm. He grazed her breast, but he did not touch the rose—and Asuka was already whirling around to come at him again. She lunged three times in quick succession, and with each attack she came a little closer, his parries less and less able to defend. She finally dealt a blow to his arm with the flat of her blade that made him drop his weapon. Shinji jumped away, suddenly powerless.

Asuka halted for a moment. She seemed to savor her victory even before cutting the rose, for—in her mind—it was certain. She smiled and began walking towards him. When she was an arm's length away, the violence started.

She cut him on both arms and across the chest. She savored every stroke, every one of his winces of pain—but it was not enough. She had to make him feel shame.

"Bow," she commanded, and when he did not she kicked him in the knee. Shinji's leg buckled, and he fell to the ground. Asuka placed her blade under his chin, forcing him to look up. Their gazes met. Shinji looked into her eyes.

He felt rage.

Shinji raised his right hand and seized Asuka's blade. It cut his palm, causing warm blood to run down his wrist, but he grit his teeth and held it there. Asuka tried to pull the blade back, but Shinji's other hand grabbed her hand and twisted. Asuka screamed and let go. She fell back, and as she did Shinji stood. He had the blade; now, he was in control. He leapt into the air with a wild cry.

He nearly shattered her ribcage when he landed. Asuka's head hit the floor first, and before she could even register the pain he was beating her about the face with his bare hands. The blade had been discarded.

Asuka began to cry. She cried because of the pain, but also for her lost pride—because, in order to end the pain, she had to end the fight. She seized the red rose on her breast and threw it away.

Rei stepped out of the shadows. "Victor," she said, "Shinji Ikari."


End file.
